Lacking the Right Questions
by SilverLunarStar
Summary: One-Shot! With hardly any memories of who he is, he has so many questions but no answers. He wished he did. Or that he'd at least have someone who asked the right questions.


**Lacking the Right Questions**

_By: SilverLunarStar_

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**Disclaimer:** _I hold no claims over _Doctor Who_. Capaldi would be written by a completely different writer if I had any say._

**Note:** _Thanks so much to Trin (aeonish on tumblr) for her beta work! This was written because of the pictures that were going around of Capaldi's ring and how it almost seemed to match the ring The Moment was wearing. And since The Moment took the form of Rose Tyler... Well. Angst came a'calling._

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Left alone in this strange room, a large _wardrobe_ made up of at least five floors, filled to the brim with clothes and accessories of every shape, size, and colour (he spotted a multi-coloured coat and shuddered, but a leather jacket made him pause). Whoever he was, he was most definitely a hoarder. He shrugged. Obviously he had the space for it.

He ascended the staircase in the middle of the room and continued to look at the racks upon racks of clothes. He was itching to get out of the clothes he currently wore. They didn't feel quite right, didn't fit the man he was (though what type of man he was, he wasn't quite sure - wasn't even sure what type of man he _used_ to be, but that was neither here nor there).

Part of him wished he hadn't yelled at the girl who'd been with him. But she had been pestering him, asking him questions, questions he didn't have answers to, questions that he was sure weren't the _right_ questions, and then, when he said he wanted out of his clothes, she'd given him a panicked look and quickly directed him into this cavernous room. She had started looking around, suggesting a pair of trousers here, a t-shirt there. She continued asking what he wanted and he'd finally had enough, shouting that he just didn't know!

Her eyes had become wide with fright at the contempt in his voice. Though he was breathing normally, he felt as though he should be panting. After a few tense moments of silence, he asked her to leave and he hadn't had to tell her twice. She scurried away and he stood stoically, only moving when he finally felt he had himself under control.

Now on the fourth floor, he finally realised he'd been gravitating towards dark colours, black especially. Humming to himself, he opened up a large trunk and began digging through. He brought up a few articles of clothing to himself as he'd been doing and, nodding, he began undressing swiftly. Putting on the clothes he was trying on, he took his time.

Once the black jacket had been buttoned, he stepped in front of a mirror. He looked like a, what's the word? He snapped his fingers and, liking the way it sounded, he snapped them again before remembering he had a word for what he looked like. He looked like a _magician_. Well, it sort of fit, didn't it? He was somewhere where the inside was bigger than the outside (his quick foray outside to observe the blue box had not helped clear his mind as the girl had hoped) and he even had _two_ hearts, something he was quite sure not many people had.

As he began stuffing everything he'd taken out back into the trunk, a box fell out from between two pieces of clothing and the contents spilled everywhere. "Fuck," he bit out, frowning at the bits and bobs that were now scattered all over the floor. He debated on leaving them there; it's not like anyone would care. It was, apparently, _his_ ship after all. Just when he was ready to ignore the mess and head back downstairs, a glint caught his eye. There were several pieces of jewelry and stones, but there was one in particular that had captured his interest.

It was a thick double-band made out of gold, or something similar, with a small, oval-shaped stone decorating the otherwise plain ring. He wasn't sure why but, when he picked it up, he immediately placed it on the anointed 'ring finger' of his left hand.

As soon as he did, a single word echoed in his mind, "forever," and an image of a blonde girl in a desert wearing a similar, if more delicate, ring. No, no, she was at a department store and they were running. No, in this very ship, staring at him like she had never seen him before. No, she was running in a street towards him and he to her. No, they were in a beach and they were finally, _finally_ snogging…

He shook his head and the visions faded. When he tried remembering them, he could only manage to recall yellow - _blonde_, hair and blushing pink skin. Mind preoccupied, he forgot all about the mess he'd made and finally made his way back to the landing, exiting the wardrobe. He clenched his left hand into a fist and finally let out the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. "Forever," was whispered in the exhale. He stared at the ring for a moment longer before continuing on his way to the control room and hoped that someday, somehow, he could find the answers to all the questions he had.

Failing that, he hoped someone would come by with the right set of questions for him to answer.


End file.
